


Just Breathe

by kedgeree



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Claustrophobia, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:24:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/pseuds/kedgeree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's return from "the fall," things aren't same with John, but John isn't his <em>only</em> friend, after all. Molly Hooper is trying her best to help when she and Sherlock find themselves in a tight spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afteriwake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/gifts).



> This fic is for afteriwake/scandalbaby for Holmestice 2013, based on the prompt (or parts) for a post-Reichenbach Sherlock/Molly fic where Sherlock has to rely on Molly and their relationship changes...

Molly hovered behind Sherlock, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she waited for him to pick the lock on the scuffed green door of a likely murderer's flat. Fortunately, he made short work of it and it was not long before they slipped inside into a dimly-lit sitting room. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her and held a finger to his lips--as if she needed the reminder to be quiet. This  _was_  her  _fourth_  time helping Sherlock on a case, after all. She might be a little excited, still, but she wasn't going to make any silly mistakes. Not this time. It was not going to be like the first time, when she accidentally set off the suspect's office security system when she'd gone to look for the loo. Nor was it to be like third time, when she accidentally tipped the glass vase they needed for evidence off of the balcony.

She was simply more accustomed to dealing with victims and perpetrators of crime after they were dead. Any strong, competent woman might be equally flustered by the sudden switch to living, moving, talking criminals. She would be fine after a bit more practice.

Molly focused on steadying her hands--they were only trembling a  _little_ \--while Sherlock peered into each room in the flat, a kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. The furnishings looked as if they were originally of high quality, but they were poorly-tended. The dust they had agitated with their intrusion was drifting through the air. There was a stale odor to the room. Molly wrinkled her nose.

"Empty," Sherlock announced, turning from the door to one of the bedrooms. "As I expected."

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

Sherlock cast her a baleful look. "Of course I'm sure."

Molly sighed. "All right. Well. What now?" Her fourth time helping Sherlock and she still had no idea what she was doing. He rarely told her what was going on. She usually ended up trailing after him and then standing around uselessly. What would John have been doing if he were here? She knew better than to bring up John's name to ask.

The one time she had asked Sherlock why he requested her company instead of John's had been met with an extremely curt, "John's busy.  _Again_."

"Oh, of course, with--"

"Yes, with  _her_."

Molly thought  _she_  was a lovely girl. She was nice. She was clever. She spoke her mind. She knew how to stand up for herself. Perhaps sometimes she was a bit intimidating...but she was a good match for John. John had been so very sad while Sherlock was  _away_. Molly was happy for him, even if Sherlock wasn't. Well, that was unfair. Sherlock must be happy for John. They were still friends, after all. She expected that things were just...different now that John had other priorities.

Sherlock still looked so very sad sometimes.

Right now, though, he had a glint in his eyes and a spring in his step as he beckoned her with a wave of one hand toward the kitchen. "It will be in here."

"The murder weapon?" Molly peered into the kitchen. She didn't see anything that looked like a weapon. The worktops were bare except for an empty electric kettle, a dish rack with a single blue mug in it, and a cutting board. There was a blue and green striped rug on the dark-tiled floor in front of the sink. The modern style light oak cabinets were all closed. There was a small but heavy-looking, thick-legged dining table and two chairs against one wall. "I don‚Äôt see anything. And if you say one more time that I 'don't observe,' I'm leaving you here."

Sherlock twitched a small grin at her and jerked his head toward a door near the corner of the room.

"The broom cupboard? How do you know?"

"Broken cobweb." He pointed and shrugged, then turned the door handle and tugged the door open. Molly peered around him. The cupboard was completely empty, as far as she could tell. Sherlock ducked under the low frame and stepped inside it, turning in a circle and running his hands along the tops of the inner walls with a frown. "It  _must_  be here...unless..."

Molly poked her head inside the door as well. "If you'd bother telling me  _what_  we're looking for, Sherlock, I could-- _nnffh!_ "

She was shoved--hard--from behind. She stumbled and fell into Sherlock, knocking him backward in turn against the cupboard wall. The door slammed closed behind her, plunging them into darkness. Oh,  _not good_. Not good at all.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, trying to make his way around Molly to get to the door. There was a scraping sound from behind it and the  _thunk_  of wood impacting wood as their captor pushed something against the door. The table? With the small area of the cupboard occupied by both himself and Molly, Sherlock had no room to maneuver. Molly guessed he was trying to throw his shoulder against the door, force it open, but he couldn't manage it without the space to gain momentum. Several more mysterious thumping and clattering sounds issued from the kitchen, followed by silence.

"So...you were right," Molly said tremulously. "This  _was_  the right place." She almost laughed at his frustrated sigh, but she was already too keenly aware of the space around her. Or, rather, the complete lack of space around her. Sherlock didnt' have room to move. She didn't have room to move. She gulped back a surge of terror. She couldn't move. Too close. It was too close and the walls were right there all around her. Was there air? There wasn't air, was there? She couldn't move. Couldn't move.

Sherlock's hands fumbled at her in the darkness, found her shoulders. "Molly, are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she whispered shakily. She would be fine, if she could just breathe. She would not fall apart.  _John_  would never fall apart. If only she could breathe, move. She needed to  _move_. Her arm pressed into the wall and she whined. Trapped.

"Molly?" Sherlock's voice was sharp with concern.

She flinched away from the wall on her right, but there was nowhere to go. Trapped. Trapped. Her left shoulder hit the opposite wall and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a wail. Her heart was pounding and her breath was starting to come in fast, shallow puffs.

"You're claustrophobic."

Molly whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut in the dark, because  _damn_  it, she needed to be  _useful_ , not a burden, not afraid, needed to breathe, needed to move, needed to get out get out get out get out  _get out_ \--

"Molly." Sherlock's voice was soft and calm. "Listen to me. Are you listening?"

Molly panted. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak.

"Molly, I have your hand. Can you feel that?"

Yes. Warmth on her fingers.

"I'm holding your hand against my chest. Can you feel it there?"

Molly concentrated on her hand. Fabric. Cool buttons. More warmth underneath. Movement.

"You feel me breathing." Low and steady, soft and calm, Sherlock's voice stroked her nerves. "Molly, I want you to breathe when I breathe. Can you do that? Breathe when I breathe."

His chest rose and fell slowly. A tear slid down Molly's cheek, but she concentrated. Sherlock inhaled. Molly inhaled. Sherlock exhaled. Molly exhaled. Agonizingly long, slow breaths.

"That's good, Molly. You're doing really well. Keep breathing. I'm going to take my mobile from my pocket now, so I can send a text. You'll feel me move. All right?"

Molly nodded wordlessly in the darkness, but Sherlock seemed to sense her acceptance.

"There will be a light, but I want you to close your eyes for me." He put his hand atop hers on his chest, stroked it softly. "Keep your eyes closed. Keep breathing when I breathe. You're going to be all right."

Molly nodded again. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. Even though she was forewarned, she startled when Sherlock shifted, brushing against her shoulder, her shoulder touching the wall. Sherlock squeezed her hand, and she drew in a deep breath. There was a light outside her eyelids, but she didn't look. After the very soft clicking sounds of Sherlock's thumb on his mobile keypad, the light went away. Sherlock shifted again.

"We're going to be out of here soon. I promise."

"I'm sorry," Molly burst out, fingers curling into the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock stilled. " _You're_  sorry? Molly, I--"

"This would  _never_  have happened to John," Molly continued in a ragged rush. "I'm not like him. I'm sorry. I know you miss him, Sherlock, I know you do. I see you. You're back now and you want things back the way they were but he's not the same any more and I can't help with that part. You keep asking me to come out with you, and I--I'm not John. ¬†I'm not him, I can't be him." Her breath caught on a sob. Beneath her fisted hand, Sherlock's frame seemed to have taken on a layer of tension. She leaned into him, sliding her hand from the front of his chest to his back, bringing her other hand around his waist as well. "I know you miss him, but it's going to be all right."

This time it was Sherlock's breath that caught in his throat. "Molly. You..." He swallowed, and Molly felt his hand move to gently cradle the back of her head. She sighed and burrowed her face into his shoulder. "You're...all right? This close?"

She was. That was the strange thing. The wonderful thing. She felt safe, body to body with Sherlock. There were no walls surrounding her, pressing in on her now, there was only Molly and Sherlock, just the two of them, safe and together. Sherlock's hand was stroking her hair. Her hand was stroking his back.

"Just breathe," he whispered.

"You too," Molly whispered back.

In and out, again and again, they breathed together.

When they heard sound again from outside their dark little world, Molly pulled away from Sherlock reluctantly. He kept his arms around her.

There was a rap on the outside of the door, and the scuffing sound of the table sliding away. "Sherlock? Are you in there?" Lestrade's voice called.

"Get your camera ready!" A woman's voice giggled. A man's voice snickered.

"We're here," Sherlock called back resignedly.

"We?" Lestrade's voice was full of amusement. "John, if you're in there too, you have just made my entire week."

The door opened and Molly blinked and squinted as her eyes re-adjusted to the light.

"Molly!" Lestrade exclaimed, his obvious delight at Sherlock's dilemma draining from his face as he took in Sherlock's protective hold on Molly. "Put your phone down, you idiot," he hissed at the man holding his camera phone at the ready. Molly didn't recognize him. He looked disappointed. "Are you all right?"

Sherlock led her out of the cupboard by the hand. She glanced back over her shoulder at the tiny interior and shuddered. Sherlock squeezed her hand. "I'm fine, Greg," she answered with a little smile, nodding. Somehow, everything was fine. More than fine.

"Thank you, Lestrade," Sherlock said simply.

Lestrade blinked in surprise at the uncharacteristic sincerity of Sherlock's tone. "Er, yeah. No worries." He grinned again now that he was assured of Molly's well-being. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world, actually. I'm  _really_  looking forward to hearing how  _this_ \--" He waved at the cupboard. "--came to happen."

"Inspector, I'm missing a murder weapon and my suspect is long gone, but as my Molly has been so kind to point out, we have at least found the right flat." He sounded remarkably cheerful for a detective whose efforts had been significantly thwarted. He still held Molly's hand, their fingers laced together. His thumb stroked the side of her wrist. "I'll catch you up, but first Miss Hooper and I need a moment. If you'll just wait outside."

"You've been trapped in a room together for an hour, you dragged me away from my job to save your sorry arse, and now you want us all to bugger off so you can have a chat? Shall I make you a nice cuppa before we go?"

"No, just leave. If you please." Sherlock raised an imperious brow. "Now would be good."

Lestrade sighed and shook his head, but Molly caught the fond look he gave Sherlock in spite of himself. "You  _are_  going to fill me in. Completely."All right everyone. Back into the hallway." He shuffled out of the room along with his two companions.

Sherlock turned to Molly, meeting her questioning gaze with clear, sharp eyes. God, she loved his eyes. Why did they look so...apprehensive now? "What's wrong?"

Huffing a small laugh, Sherlock shook his head. "You amaze me, Molly Hooper."

"I amaze  _you_?"

He raised her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her wrist. The movement was awkward, and Sherlock's eyes were still uncertain, and Molly thought her heart might just burst. "I'm the one, Molly. I'm the one who sees but does not observe. This one time."

"What do you mean?"

"You were right, Molly. I do miss John. I miss him very much."

Molly nodded sympathetically, wanting to hold him again. She wanted to pet his back and his curls and his face and have him be happy. "I understand, Sherlock, but you know he still cares about--"

"And you were wrong, Molly."

Molly blinked. "What?"

Sherlock hesitated. "I don't...I'm not...you're not a  _substitute_. If I made you think that then I am truly sorry. You're...something new. It's not... After everything you've done for me? I know who you are. When I ask you to be with me, it's  _you_  I want with me. Not anyone else. Please forgive me. I...can do better by you. If you'll let me try."

Molly's world was spinning. Sherlock's eyes had gone a deeper blue, dark and serious. She had a thousand questions racing through her brain, and she wanted to never leave this moment and she wanted to kiss those beautiful lips, one at a time, and she wanted to run in circles screaming and she didn't know how to do all of those things at once. The first thought to escape from the chaos was not the one she would have chosen deliberately. "I...I'm rubbish at crime scenes."

Sherlock flashed a spontaneous, beautiful smile, and laughed. "Yes. You are."

"But, then--"

"Molly, as it turns out, I don't actually need an assistant."

Molly's heart was pounding again. "Then what...what do you need?"

Sherlock threaded his fingers through her hair and whispered, "You. Just you. Now tell me...please...what do  _you_  need?"

"Oh, Sherlock." she breathed. "I'm so glad you asked..."


End file.
